Driving DC noir (jmmusechroncontinues)

 

I head down the corridor, ignoring that feeling of deception I cannot get rid of in my gut…. 

And walk to the elevator which I’d not seen before when I’d gone up the stairs from the street. I realize now why Jörn said to go this way for when I get out, alone —as the building seems to be empty of nearly everyone, save a few walking towards the exits—that, these doors lead out the opposite side of the building and I am now standing facing another street, not looking in the direction of the water. It is a few minutes I am standing there and begin to worry as I look around watching delivery vans go by. The others who leave the building hardly seem to notice me.

I get a chill as I stand there waiting and consider if maybe perhaps I had better order an actual Uber but I am too worried to, thinking something might have happened to Jörn. 

I walk down to the corner and look down the next street and reach inside my bag for my phone, but suddenly I see the white Volvo peeling down the street and as it swerves, it comes to a screeching stop. The passenger door swings open,

“Get in!” he says

And it is the urgency in his command which I don’t bother to question and then, I am hardly in the seat with the door not even closed when he accelerates at full speed down the narrow street

“Fuck! What’s going on?” I grab onto the dashboard by the glove compartment 

“Put your seatbelt on, we have to get to DC!” he shouts as he looks at me, “we have a problem—!”

And as I turn to look behind us, I see a delivery van is not far behind, much too close, in fact!—also driving at full speed….

“Get down!” Jörn shoves my head down as the windshield shatters with a round of popping sounds and, delayed, it occurs to me —we’re being shot at

    

Electra’s dictionary pulp noir/ Dr. Evans’ office visit part 3 (jmmusechroncontinues)

 

The momentary confusion that I feel in coming out of the hypnosis that I realize had been prompted ….by design…. from the old recording of Dr.Rothschild’s that she had obviously kept ….now sends, in a flurry of thoughts 

that sense of feeling cornered ….

and from that triggered thought I find I land upon others ….such as

I have gone from that sense of being stranded and living in one prison —the underground bunker in the Adirondaks ….to that other prison —of my high school stalker and do now find myself forced to live out yet another sentence as where I find myself as the companion/groundskeeper of a supposed retired spy but forced to report back as his spy because …..why? this part has me rather stupefied as I sit there in that foggy aftermath of that blankness which comes when you know your brain has been prodded whilst under some form of a tranquilizer —how induced, I am not fully sure

befuddled ….I look up at Jörn assuming, he is why I feel this way

 ….as I watch him…. peeling off fake press-on manicured nails 

I hear the sound of them hitting the porcelain sink of the lavatory as he has left the door open and from the psychiatrist’s couch I am still sitting on, I have a perfect view of the lavatory’s interior 

I feel entranced to watch him; perhaps it is the after-affects of the hypnosis ….so…. fascinating really ….he’s so methodically professional —now as I watch him removing his make-up. The glasses now removed, does one eye at a time; he uses some sort of white cream, so fastidiously neat and orderly, almost like a surgeon, so careful and practiced. And then it is the lipstick, off it comes, leaving not even a stain of any residue; then washes his face with a foaming cleaner, scrubbing up to his hairline and then the hair itself; under the faucet, washes out the setting and then in a blink, it is tightly tied back…. he is himself again completely transformed before my very eyes!

I get up and walk to the lavatory doorway,

“Jörn, what is going on?”

“Not here,” he whispers and presses an index finger to his mouth and implores me with his eyes but looks at the time of his watch which he now reaches for from inside a gym bag which had been stowed in a cabinet under the sink, “although, I think everyone has gone,” he says, as he puts the watch on his wrist and deftly secures it as he moves back into the psychiatrist’s office from the lavatory to open the door a crack that leads back out to the main office and listens 

“Yes, Melina has left—she’s always the last to go,” he tells me

I realize she was the receptionist behind the sliding glass from before

“Are you —like—working here?” I ask

He looks at me conspiringly as he shuts the door again,

“Candy Bergen is Dr. Evans assistant —until ….her return from the UK—she’s guest lecturing at the university discussing theories and how it links to archeological evidence—“

“What!?”

Jörn studies me through narrowed eyes and then shakes his head,

“let’s go,” he says and points back to the lavatory, “you go through to the other door —it leads to the office building’s corridor which leads to the elevator. Go downstairs to the ground floor and if you see anyone on the way out, and if they ask —say you are waiting for an Uber ride.”

“Where are you—“ I start to say, but as I watch what he does I realize the answer as he takes the gym-bag, now containing all of Candy Bergen’s disguise, and now fully changed into blue jeans and a gray and white pinstriped t-shirt and gym shoes as he climbs on the counter of the sink to the window above 

“Oh my god, what are you doing?!” I ask him, “are you jumping or do you think you’re Spider-Man and going to scale the wall?”

He holds back a laugh and says into my ear,

“there’s a fire-escape on the other side of this wall,” and before I can respond to this, he kisses my neck behind my ear and bites my ear lobe as he says, “I’ve parked down the alley, look for a white Volvo, it’ll have an Uber sign,” then leaves a wet trail with his tongue right before he jumps out the window 

“Shit….” I say a bit dazed to the empty room as I stare at the window 

Vakna/Electra’s dictionary; dreams everlasting Noir(jmmuschron)

 

I watch the swirls. They move into their vortex center, as it seems I dream. I do not want to be here. If I could be anywhere in this universe, it would not be here….and this I think as I sink into that deep abyss; feel it suck me in, pull me down….and drain me….within its swirls ….there I go into the downward spiral 

My safe place ….it was a cool and shaded pond, in a canopy of trees; their heavily leafed branches throwing cool comfort in a shadowy paradise, with their textured limbs of bark and moss…. I lay within a small boat that would rock from the intrusion of encroaching animal visitors, who were never aware of my presence 

I knew that pond so well, knew the perimeter of its curves and the stretching tree roots that reached around ….and there I’d dream laying on the bottom of my little boat, looking up at the cover of green foliage, like a ceiling in some fairy’s kingdom; a kelpie’s ring to lore 

I do not know why I went there, how I could recall the scent of the moss, the ripple sounds of fish who’d jump, the flapping wings of geese, the hoots of doves and later….owls as the sun went down ….but I’d dream of him as I lay there in my kelpie’s kingdom; the boy who came from far across the field who I’d never see again 

It was so vague at first when Dr. Rothschild first began those sessions with me. Those details of landscapes…. of anguish….of hopes…. of dreams…. but I’d first seen him there, he’d been hiding in the night ….his language somehow a bit different, his cloth colors, his eyes, his manner, the shape of his jaw and skull along his brows and each time the lull of Dr. Rothschild’s voice recalled him more and more….

And like that image in the water; reflection or a-telling….soon would dissipate and be replaced like the ripples erasing off a chalk board or like a stage curtain or silken veils; like sails that recast entire new scenes 

What had Dr. Evans found in Powys?

I heard myself say 

In sleepy thoughts as I leaned back into the deep seat, stretching out as if still there in my boat, looking up at those branches and leaves

 ….but now it comes back to me as I lay there losing track of now—confusing time; which present ….am I ….at? as I hear Bran’s voice in my mind ….our last conversation as I’d asked him what he’d thought of all this and DNA memory theory —as it was to do with me 

“Do I think you are ….gymraeg …. “ and then, to himself, “ydw i'n meddwl eich bod chi'n gymraeg…. “ and he sighed heavily before he said, “your complexion—no, it is not…. felynddu—eh, that is, well, not that is always the case but, the true—Cymry ….go iawn, eh….more swarthy than your cool color ….you have perhaps that other mix from the other parts ….and it could be from your other aboriginal roots of the Americas, or no ….it seems to me it may —yes, perhaps ….be from the Northman….Brittany which ….I can see is also there, you are so many things Beth….who is what?” and here he’d done that deep chuckle 

Beth who is what 

….

“Duva….?” and again I hear that music ….it takes over from Dr.Rothschild’s hypnotic tone

recall yet another scene ….upon scenes—a stormy New York City night upon a darkened stage ….when we’d lost power and ….somewhere in the crowd….that night when we performed soon after I’d first met Josef and Elsa

….and long, lovely arms ….they carried and wrapped around me; the Vampire Waltz ….as ….the music spins me within the spell of ….the brilliance of vampire eyes; their power of kryptonite —dispels and overcasts all ….that ever was —and conquers all….of me 

“What did she find in Powys?” I say as I open my eyes and see Jörn looking back at me as he snaps his fingers,

“Vakna!”

an artist lives by shadows & illusions/delusions

 

Electra’s dictionary; a lost legend/Dr. Evans’ office visit part 2

“Do you really mean to go through with this?” I look up into the light glints of kryptonite 

They glance up at the camera,

“of course it is your choice….”

is this the dark ages, I find I wonder ….?

a time when there can be no Renaissance nor evolution 

and no new faith to strive for ….enlightenment 

apathy seems to have sunk into my pores 

it seems that it is possible to become desensitized to the witnessing of horrors and living in dangerous times 

the true meaning of depression is the absence of emotion; a disconnection to meaning 

recession and the great depreciation; the more things change the more things stay the same 

I stare at the wall to the right of the camera and notice more of those odd swirl designs that remind me of Celtic symbols. I lean back against the leather sofa but I whisper,

“you just want to search for more codes…..”

That sound he makes in his throat I recognize; I know every tone he never needs to annunciate just by his subtle inflections…. how easily I’ve fallen for every minute suggestion; of eyes, of voice, of touch and ….scent …. they put me under 

“You are free to go,” that seductive voice now does say to me

I look back up and past the lenses disguised by artful design; I search…. so very desperately ….for meaning 

do I imagine that I hear his music playing? do I imagine I hear him say “min lilla duva….” 

as the lab coated blond walks to the desk and then…. I hear a click…. the room is filled with the voice of Dr. Rothschild ….and I remember in rewind…. 

“Go to your safe place….” 

I remember ….

She says,

“tell me what you see….”

And I hear my own voice fill the room as I watch the swirls on the wall that repeat the pattern of the carpet …. woven in my mind ….and draw me down inside them like a spell 

I am drifting aimlessly on a raft in an endless ocean. I am drifting to nowhere with no connection to anything 

I am drowning in nothingness 

I see the stars in the sky, some five pointed and some six; I see hammers and the crucifixes which mark souls lost in time 

I hear my voice say

“I am in a green and shaded grove….that is the last time I saw him….”

Electra’s dictionary/ notes of a stranger poker faced pulp noir (jmmusechron)

After a moment, I walk back to the monitor and look at her on the screen

“Dr. Evans, tell me—what do you mean in your reference to DNA—are you speaking of —that is, have you breached into confidential information like—my recent DNA test or—“

<<“No— I’m not referring directly to —to that kind of information…. but not excluding the findings it might have brought to light….”>>

and here I see her stand up and walk around the wing chair and lean on the back of it looking directly into the camera as though staring straight at me and ….there is something of that old woman from the waiting room in her gaze at me….which causes me to shudder. 

She continues….

<<“but the theory Dr. Rothschild was so involved in proving…. how memories can be handed down through one’s DNA; ‘DNA Memory Theory’, I know you refer to it often in your writing,”>> she says

“You read my blog….”

<<“Someone mentioned your blog to me recently, that is how I found you—“>>

“Someone? —you mean Stina….”

<<“—who?”>>

“Who mentioned me? —how I got your card? Like you don’t know!”

<<“My business card? No— I wouldn’t know about that— I heard of you through my associate —who will be conducting the study with you during my absence —oh! I’m running out of time, I’m the guest lecturer—but—I hope you won’t mind—my associate….uh—I assume you are open minded —uh, as—many of my patients deal with emotional issues to do with gender ambiguity—have undergone ….procedures and— oh! I’m being called I must go—I hope you decide to….well, it’s up to you…. but I do hope you decide to —because I feel that you have as much to gain from this experience as—we—do….”>> at which point the zoom freezes and then she disappears 

When the dark haired man in the lab coat reappears from the door he vacated he looks at me a moment and waits with a kind and patient smile

“You are waiting for me to decide —or not— to go forward with —Dr. Evans’ experiment,” I watch his expression as I say it

He shrugs,

“you can always come back—you can think it over.”

“How long have you been Dr. Evans’ assistant?” I ask

“Oh,” he looks surprised and his face flushes slightly, “I’m not Dr. Evans’ assistant—I’m a nurse on staff here; all I’d be doing here today is—if you decide to go through with the experiment —would be to administer the ….shot—that is, with your permission—her assistant is Dr. Bergen who has years of research and work exploring the mind and human behavior and ….that is who would be….conducting the experiment….”

“A shot!” I feel alarmed and go back to the leather couch to sit down, that lightheaded feeling having returned and to myself I repeat, “conducting the experiment….” I look up from the spot on the floor I had been momentarily mesmerized by; the abstract design in the carpet reminding me of those strange symbols from Celtic designs, “are you familiar with the research?”

Again, his face is brightened as he flushes and shakes his head, “I’ve not been present yet for one of Dr. Evans’ experiments—but I’ve read some of the logs she keeps. It’s similar to treatments for recovering from dependencies—they do hypnosis—it’s quite effective….” he stops to consider and inches back a few steps, “if you would prefer….”

“What is the shot?” I suddenly ask

Again a bright flush,

“….uh—a barbiturate—ah, a kind of anesthetic—“

“What kind?”

“Umm….it’s in the family of sodium pentothal —it’s a similar—”

I laugh nervously,

“‘truth serum’? Isn’t that illegal—?—unconventional!—“ I laugh again 

“Well, I’m sure it’s not illegal or—“

“They gave that to spies during the Cold War right before giving the lethal injection,” I nervously say this wondering as I look around the office what I might be getting caught up in

“You know—maybe Dr. Bergen would be better qualified to explain, I’ll just—let me just….” then disappears behind that door 

A moment later it opens but whoever I might have been expecting ….I have no idea

Tall, slim and also wearing a white lab coat over a fitted red dress and wearing high heels, this Dr. Bergen’s face turns from the door, at first hidden under a well made up face of perfectly applied lipstick with sweeping blond tresses that reach the broad shoulders of the lab coat, now turns, a face somewhat more obscured with stylishly studious framed glasses and artfully elegantly made up pale colored eyes….

I gasp.

There is no mistaking ….

“Greta?!” 

I say this more in a gasp that is impossible to stop

“Dr. Bergen!” and glances nervously at some spot on the wall ….

I look in the same direction, now noticing a camera 

“Candy….” ‘they’ say, as to —correct— and clarify; the tall, blond…. clearly trans with ….a slight Northern European accent only noticeable by the inflection of consonants and syllables, “you Americans insist on titles of formalities despite your revolutions….” says with a casual chide but—the eyes glare a kind of silent command

I stare…. aware my mouth has dropped open from the gasp —in need of oxygen 

“Ohhh….my….” I cannot breathe…. and for a few dizzying seconds, I hyperventilate …. “God!” I say…. because I cannot ask what I want to ask but…. anyway stumble with my wits…. breathlessly under my breath I mumble, “what-are-you….doing….” but stop my next choice in words completely dumbfounded 

‘They’ say,

“I am here to conduct the experiment—with your permission of course—in the absence of Dr. Evans.”

“….why?” as I just stare…. at this dazzling tall blond standing in front of me 

and aware of the camera clearly watching the both of us, am forced to forgo any real questions I’d prefer to ask….as I consider ….

consider…..

Stina’s insistence …. the old woman in the waiting room…. the references to Dr. Rothschild by Dr. Evans….

“Am I really to undergo hypnosis?” I ask —as— this seems the most logical choice of questions to put forward 

They look at me….oh those beguiling kryptonite eyes how they do hypnotize 

“I am a qualified doctor of mental behavioral studies….” and ….as I hear ‘them’ say this…. I suddenly remember that detail—a card never once fully played until now 

(edited)Electra’s dictionary noir/face value; Dr.Evans part 1

As the driver goes down the intricate streets within Chestertown, and then navigates along the roads that face into Chesapeake Bay, I am struck by the cluster and beauty of colorful sail boats that line the way and fill all the nearby marinas with their elegance and grace with the water reflecting the sails and the sky. And then it is the chaotic sounds of seagulls flying above which ….tugs in that certain place deep within me

oh no…. I feel it

what is it…. and I think, ‘here we are again….’ as I feel something nearly hypnotic throwing its heavy, cloudy spell thickly in my mind ….that heavy and strange fatigue holds its grip, like a straight jacket ….upon somewhere intangible within and causes that sense of feeling  lethargically drunk, dulling my focus 

“This is it,” the driver tells me

“Ohhh….” as I force myself to move, unbuckle the seatbelt, feel for my handbag ….but I seem to move in slow motion as I pull it to my shoulder and reach for the door latch when the car stops ….

The building has a shop below, like all the attached buildings that line a pretty red-brick paved villege street; flowers grow from outdoor window planters and artful displays of flower beds group cheek by jowl, and so I stand there holding the business card with the doctor’s name and the number clearly printed on it. Still I hesitate, even as I see which door would lead to the walk-up above 

I turn mesmerized back to stare towards the bay …. feeling ….that sense ….of being transported somewhere else in my mind ….to another fishing villege ….some Northern European long forgotten place ….recalling the memory from the cry of the seagulls ….when I got lost as a child and wandered away from my mother ….

It is while I sit in the small quaint psychiciatrist’s waiting room that I find my thoughts go down a tangent …..looking around at the patients waiting there, the ad-hoc receptionist’s cubicle, partitioned by a wall divider with its sliding glass window-door—appearing newly devised, with its freshly beveled glass and slick, new painted molding; a partition which would be meant to protect the office staff from air-born breath of Covid, no doubt about that, reflecting our modern new normal lives. And as I look around at this kind of frozen, snapshot in time ….look around at these people sitting here with me, some in masks; this waiting station on the walking plank of life…. 

when suddenly my phone alerts this odd trigger….

I don’t know why—why should it alert some forgotten person I once knew but now only know on Facebook ….someone I once thought myself in love with ….so very long ago and….. because it is his birthday 

Why must it now send me down that old broken path? I wonder as I feel that sick twitch within my gut as I recall the silly girl I was ….like those terrible days when he broke my heart —or so I had believed 

Because it occurs to me that now I don’t care at all ….and I suppose if he had really mattered, it would now and I consider now with this occurrence of thought, how I was so mistaken 

to think ….the world of him. 

He had been so wicked to me; he played me along that deceptive path when I was twenty one. What an idiot I was, I think now, such a waste of emotion; I wasted weeks, months, years on that fool who I now feel nothing for now and….truth be told— I really saw for who he was rather long ago, so why do I have him still hanging there to pollute my walls?

Impulsively I unfriend him…. and ….in doing so, find this strange hysteria rise in me. Why ever did I have him in my friends ….? but…. as I sit there waiting I …..start to reconsider another I see in that category of ‘friends’, another who I had once believed myself in love with

and no—this is not the first time I knew myself to be such an idiot when it has come to light that ….I have given more power to ‘ideas’ of a love ….when it had all really been in my own mind…. made it up but ….and believed it with all my heart; what ever made me do that…. ?

But no, I do know….it was to fill the void 

that bereft emptiness ….where Electra came from ….the fatherless Electra, longing for a kind of love I would never get to know. A habit left over from a child’s mind, I made this up to ….fill the void; create what was otherwise lacking; a need from that starved place within. But they  weren’t real, only stood for something; I deceived myself. And their ultimate rejection of me assuring me that I would always believe I was not good enough; not pretty enough; not lovable and not desirable ….not feminine enough …. and not worthy of love

and in tandem I start looking through my Facebook friends, finding each of these other similar faces of a past; road signs ….leading back to —my own delusion….they were none of them who I made them out to be; I created all of them

….and I find myself unfriending each! one by one….

almost like a frenzy until ….I put my finger over the place where I may delete my page…. I hover there…. fakebook of frauds that are a portrait gallery of shams; people I don’t even like and —I hardly bother to read what they show off about with their peanut gallery of likes

hover …. finger poised ….and in the end just decide to deactivate my page and delete the app from my phone 

How many times does nonsense invade my thoughts with irritating trite phone alerts to interrupt my peace?

I toss my phone into my bag as if it is a hand grenade, a viper….a rotting rabid rat I resent 

Then look around the room

I see an elderly woman looking at me. She sits closest to the receptionist in a chair next to her knitting bag. She had been knitting baby booties when I’d first come in. Rainbow booties. The bright pride colors like a brilliant prism spilling from her fingers. How oddly she looks ….at me….how oddly she looks ….wearing a kind of shawl, like a throwback from the old world ….someone you’d see in a photo arriving by boat at Ellis Island ….in her dark clothes, the long skirt and worn old shoes, her heavily golden-ringed, gnarled, arthritic hands ….

how oddly she looks….at me ….now instead of knitting, shuffling cards ….but she watches me

as if she can read my thoughts as she sits beside another woman who talks to her. She shuffles them without looking. They are playing cards. I hear her say,

“Jack of clubs, queen of spades ….” but she does not look at them. She is looking right at me

I get such a chill

I can see from where I am that each time she calls a card….she names them correctly ….without looking at them

I hear her say to the woman,

“tell your husband to stop taking those pills from the specialist but see an eye doctor….”

This shocks me and I stare at her. She shuffles more cards and puts two more down,

“Queen of hearts, ace of diamonds …..”

I look away and decide to tune her out

When the next patient is called, I see it is the woman the old woman had been talking to and when she goes through the door, the elderly woman gets up and moves towards me slowly, her eyes on me, she sits down next to me

Immediately I recoil

“Do not be afraid of me,” she says in a surprising clear voice. She places her hand on me and looks into my eyes, “you are from the other side,” she says

I look around the room to see if anyone is aware of what she is saying, but no one seems to take any notice of her. I get a chill.

“They were not right for you,” she says now

“What?” I say in a dry whisper, as it seems I’ve lost my voice

She points to my bag and I realize she must be indicating my phone

“Your old beaus ….”

“I don’t think you know what you are talking about—are you like a fortune teller? Are you charging people?” I almost laugh but it’s a trigger response because I feel myself having gone cold

“You were right to get rid of all those pretenders. Social media is a trap. A wasteland to waste time and steal lives—but I don’t have to tell you that. You know you don’t need it —but you try to fit into this world ….but you are from the other side.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I say this as I feel a dizziness sweep over me

“You already know this….you are older than me….” she tells me as she grips my hand, “you are older than all of us and….so wise….no man will ever be as wise —you will always know more and ….that is why,” she says, staring into my eyes, hers having that strange gray frame around the iris, “yr wyt yn ddoeth….” she says

“What?” I ask

“Yr wyt yn ddoeth,” she says again and says, “I was your daughter once….I knew we’d meet again, but I am here to tell you—never doubt your way ….always remember—they need you more but only know once you’ve gone. I’m glad your Persephone is back.”

Suddenly the receptionist slides open her window, standing up she shouts, 

“Mrs. Evans! We’ve told you to stop bothering people in the waiting room!”

But at this moment the door to the doctor’s inner office opens and my name is called by a tall dark-haired man in a white lab coat 

When I reach the door he says,

“don’t mind her, she’s harmless—she’s a bit senile, she’s Dr. Evans’ great aunt,” he tells me, and shuts the door behind us. As we walk down the hallway he says, “I hope she didn’t bother you,” as he leads me into an office and shuts the door behind us

“Oh—I ….” but I am still a bit shaken by her words that still echo in my head. My throat having gone dry, I cough

“Do you need some water?” he hands me a bottle of mineral water, “please sit down,” he indicates the dark brown leather sofa that faces the deeply stained wood desk as he walks across the room to the front of the desk. He goes to the computer monitor and turns it around so the screen faces outward, “I must apologize —uh—Dr.Evans is unable to be here physically, so, she’s doing your meeting through Zoom—“

“What? But—“

“Oh don’t worry, it’s preliminary —here, she’s joining now,” he taps the screen

<<“Hello!”>> she says from the wide screen 

I try to figure out where she’s sitting but the background is dark and she is, by contrast, bright in her lab coat and sitting with her legs crossed from what appears as a wing chair 

<<“so wonderful to see you, I’m sorry it’s not in person! And this meeting I have so long anticipated that I didn’t want to cancel when I was suddenly called away!”>>

The lab coated man now disappears behind another door 

“Ohhh….” I say not knowing what else to say 

<<“You see, I should tell you…. your background brings to mind for me an old case study I remember going back a decade —no, it’s been longer; more perhaps like two. It was when I was first doing my internship at the Stonybrook University hospital in New York ….under Dr. Risa Rothschild. She —had a case she was working on ….under the title “the complex Electra case”….”>>

She has my attention and I stare back at her

She says,

<<“you spent a number of years in New York too….”>>and keeps her eyes on me

“So why am I really here?” I ask her suspecting there is more going on here than what appears at face value

<<“I am sure you have gathered it is not as my patient but for —research,”>> she says

“Research? Whose?” I ask

<<“I would say it is mutual research…. wouldn’t you….? Research, like having to do with DNA …. and possibilities that, perhaps we retain more than is currently understood  among modern medicine…. And ….I know you have been regressed ….”>>

As it does not come out as a question I suspect she does know more about the research Dr. Rothschild had begun ….but all I say in response to this is,

“you knew my doctor. Dr. Rothschild.”

<<“Yes. I worked closely on many of her…. research cases….and…. since she passed away, I have continued to contribute to her work…. you know…. I have actually been searching for you for years….you don’t seem surprised—so may I ask ….would you mind if we did some experiments ….and begin today? I am anxious to get going on this research and continue the studies Dr. Rothschild began….I think you are the Electra I’ve been looking for….I’ve read your….writings…. So— my today assistant has agreed to begin conducting, that is….if you don’t mind—“>>

“Your assistant?” and I point, assuming, to the now existed door where the lab-coated man vacated 

But she continues, 

<<“it’s ….unconventional…. As was Dr. Rothschild’s studies were, so….I don’t know if —you’d still feel like being a part of such….a study….”>>

“Regression….” I say under my breath and whisper, “shit….” knowing myself, that if I think too much, I’d only back out and ….haven’t I always wished we had continued this years ago? So ….why delay further exploring ….that intangible mystery which has, these many years, haunted my thoughts 

“I need a moment….” I say and walk to the window to step out of her view and for a moment let my mind wander to consider ….as I stare at the boats on the water ….the seagulls hovering above